


Searching, Longing, Yearning

by Sola_Ircadia



Category: Tekken
Genre: Angst, Changing Tenses, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fix-It of Sorts, Introspection, Jin deserves to be happy, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Sexual Content, implied pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11351997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sola_Ircadia/pseuds/Sola_Ircadia
Summary: He is alone, but he does not want to be.





	Searching, Longing, Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this instead of another piece that I've been working on and I don't even know what kind of procrastinator that makes me
> 
> Anyway, I'm extremely proud of this one, and it's probably my favorite of all the things I've written thus far. I really hope you guys like it, and thank you so much for reading! Have a good day!

 

He was not special, yet he remembered him. Fire and lightning crashing together, vibrant red burning bright against a backdrop of concrete, of city walls, of _planned_ and _perfect_ and _conventional_. Everything had always been so straightforward since his mother’s death, as counterintuitive as it may have seemed at the time: train, eat, sleep. Study. Work. Train some more. Get stronger, stand taller, and _behave_. There is a legacy at stake here, after all, a burden of glorious purpose and a family history greater than anything he would ever be on his own. He always knew what to expect, and in some ways, it made him feel a little empty.

 

And then, he was _alive_.

 

There was a challenge, and there was an answer. It was his first time fighting like this, and it was oddly thrilling, in a way. No holds barred, no traditions to uphold, no watchful eyes seeking flaws in form, just the street below him and the open sky above and the gratifying feeling of someone meeting him blow for blow. It was a nuisance, but it was satisfying. It was a con, but it was genuine.

 

It was a fight, but it was a dance, and he wanted _more_.

 

There was a challenge, and there was a draw. He was sure they could’ve carried on for much longer, beating each other senseless until every move was artless with exhaustion, but even the best (best?) of things must end. Truly, the conclusion – or a searing lack thereof, really – was unsatisfying as hell, and it left behind the most persistent sensation of having abandoned something woefully unfinished. In a way, it confounded him. He didn’t have time for these sorts of things, and yet. And yet.

 

There was a challenge – an experience that he hadn’t asked for and hadn’t really wanted to partake in at the beginning – and there was a boy. He was brighter than anything he’d seen in a long time, vibrant and fiery, loud and forceful like a thunderstorm. His ferocity was unsurprising, his skill a welcome stimulant. They flew at each other with varying levels of intensity, each rising to meet the other, not giving any ground and taking only what the other allowed of them. The color was permanently branded into his retinas, red and orange and this burning, wild shade of dark amber that flashed brighter than the most brilliant piece of gold.

 

There was a challenge, and there was Hwoarang. If Jin Kazama had ever read one of those kinds of fateful encounter stories, he might’ve known better than to let him go.

 

But that would just be too easy, now wouldn’t it?

 

* * *

 

He was not special, yet he was unforgettable. Jin recognized him the moment the opening ceremonies began, something about his posture and bright hair catching his attention even amidst a sea of nondescript faces. He’d never been one to stay familiar with people; any friendly acquaintance he’d made at school was just that. An acquaintance. Distance was easy to establish and simple to maintain, so in a way, it wasn’t hard to keep even the most persistent of classmates at arm’s length.

 

But Hwoarang wasn’t a classmate and, as far as Jin was concerned, probably had somewhat limited formal schooling. He was pushy, brash, and would not take no or anything close to it for an answer. Jin was amused and overwhelmed and annoyed all at once, and he couldn’t decide what he felt the most at any given moment. Constantly being badgered by someone else was a new experience, and while the honest human contact was strangely comforting, their interactions on the whole were generally a little too stimulating for Jin’s tastes.

 

Admittedly, there was something...refreshing about the whole arrangement. Hwoarang was honest to a fault, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was here. He had no ulterior motives, no reasons to be anyone but himself, and Jin rather liked that when it came to his attention. Fighting him wasn’t too far outside of his comfort zone, either, all things considered. It could’ve been worse.

 

As it was, it actually wasn’t that bad at all.

 

But then, of course, nothing in Jin’s life was ever quite what he expected it to be. One moment, he had a mother, and then, suddenly, he had no one. One day, he had a home, and the next day, he had nothing. One instant, he had someone supporting him, someone training him, someone looking out for him after everything else was gone –

 

And then that same someone tried to put a bullet in his head and nothing mattered anymore.

 

* * *

 

He was a monster, wandering and frightened, confused as hell and utterly consumed by uncertainty. He had no home, no one to turn to, alone and betrayed in a strange, cruel world that wouldn’t listen to him anymore. He could remember so much (his mother, Toshin, Heihachi, the tournament) and yet, none of it meant nearly as much as it had before.

 

(What are others in a world that wants him dead?)

 

It’s too soon for that, of course, but it didn’t quite matter – Jin had a fighting style to unlearn, a name to disassociate from, a body to hone and despise in equal parts. He would be a weapon of his own devices, merely a means of destroying that which was more dangerous than he, and he would fight until there wasn’t a breath left in his torn and tattered lungs.

 

The fourth tournament began and Jin went, compelled and dispossessed, some kind of intent in mind without really knowing what. His destiny, whatever was left of it, was here somewhere.

 

A part of it was a blur. Much of it was a blur, actually, and he hardly knew who he was anymore on some days. Colors and faces, some familiar and some unknown, drifted in and out of focus, but he didn’t give them a second thought. He heard about things. Monsters. Billionaires. Classmates. Soldiers. When his inevitable meeting with Hwoarang occurred, he might’ve told him to run. He might’ve told him to fuck off.

 

(Most likely, he told him nothing at all.)

 

* * *

 

That was then, and this is now.

 

Now is this world full of monsters, now is being hunted and trapped and tortured. Now is his grandfather, power-hungry and cruel; now is his father, half a man and half insane. They both hate him, but it’s just as well, because he hates them both, too. They fight, and no one wins, but he does escape to live and breathe and plan for another day.

 

He’s exhausted, but he’s only just begun.

 

The fifth tournament comes out of nowhere, too soon and too sudden to be anything but terribly suspicious. Jin goes, but only because he has to. _They_ will be there, after all.

 

 _He_ is there, too.

 

* * *

 

He is not special, yet he remembers him.

 

He remembers colors, fire, a little more volume than necessary and a determination that verged well into the realm of suicidal stubbornness. He is as bright as he’s always been, perhaps even more so, undaunted by the shadows on his face and stronger, faster, focused. There’s a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, something that Jin is all-too familiar with when he looks into the mirror. This world has changed them both. There is something about him still, something that Jin can’t place and doesn’t quite care to, theoretically. If the circumstances were different, he might bother, but with things being as they are currently, he doesn’t have a spare moment to waste on people like him.

 

Still.

 

He sees Hwoarang, and he remembers: he is alone, but he does not want to be.

 

Regardless, this changes nothing. Jin is not human anymore, and he has a lot of work to do. The first half of the fifth tournament is a blur, much like the one just before, except far worse. There’s an extra level to the sickness that festers inside of him, a certain degree of horror and darkness and pure evil that he had somehow not been accustomed to until right now. He thinks he might be able to handle it anyway.

 

He’s wrong, of course.

 

As the fifth tournament persists, so does Hwoarang. Jin doesn’t have a choice. He can’t figure out how to get rid of him. He’s been trying everything – although “trying” is relative, considering how little thought he gives it when his self-proclaimed rival isn’t around badgering him face-to-face – to absolutely no avail. There is seemingly no end to this man’s drive, and seemingly no way to diminish his desire to go up against him in a rematch, so Jin does what he must and little else.

 

He stares right through him, and it’s cruel. He knows how important this is to Hwoarang, and the fact that he’s just ignoring every last bit of it can’t be making his rival feel anything but resentment. This is the world he’s resigned himself to: a silent one, full of turned gazes and empty promises. He will not, _cannot_ , acknowledge him. It’s too late for that now, and as it is, he has no time for games or fights or dreams. No, he has a duty to fulfill, and no amount of outside stubbornness will pull him away from that.

 

He stares right through him, but that doesn’t stop him from seeing the hurt that flashes in Hwoarang’s eyes.

 

He wonders if he hates him. He wonders if it matters. He wonders, but then he doesn’t, because it’s not important. Unnecessary. A waste of time. Fragments of a life he longer lives, the memories of a child that believed in better things like alliances and rivalries and mutual respect. He has moved on from all of that, and it’s high time that Hwoarang does, too.

 

He doesn’t wonder, but sometimes he does. Sometimes, he wonders if it’s not too late to change things.

 

* * *

 

He loses, and then he wins.

 

It is a bitter victory, not that anyone else would realize that. He hadn’t meant to do what he’d done – he hadn’t meant to nearly kill his opponent, to rise despite his clear defeat and utterly savage them in front of the entire watching audience with no mercy or sign of recognition. That wasn’t the sort of thing that he usually did. He had always been one to stick to a fair fight, even now, and he always tried to give other contestants the combative respect that they deserved.

 

This, though. Hwoarang’s blood has dried thick on his hands, the overwhelming scent an all-too obvious testament to his transgressions today. Distantly, he remembers things: bones breaking, a form giving way beneath his strikes. A weight in his grip, heavy and unmoving. Screaming, perhaps.

 

(Although maybe that had been him.)

 

He loses, he wins, and he gives up.

 

* * *

 

He is many things, has been and will be: a fighter, a monster, a power-hungry maniac.

 

_Power is everything._

 

He was a son, once, maybe a friend to someone at one point, but no longer. He is not a son to anyone, now, not to the woman who deserves better or to the man he’s only met the blows of, and he has no friends.

 

He’d made sure of that.

 

If he hadn’t already scared them away at first chance, then he would’ve ignored them. Most people should’ve gotten the message by that point, but that one, that same fire and insistent voice, had chased him with a relentless stubbornness that should’ve meant something, but didn’t. (He couldn’t let it.) In the end, perhaps it was for the best that the battle had happened the way it had. Nothing short of death would be able to keep Hwoarang away from him for long.

 

And now he is alone.

 

He has to be alone – there’s no better way of going about this. In order to train, to survive, to keep himself together and to eliminate those most dangerous, he has to be alone. This is what he tells himself when he declares war on the world itself, dropping bombs and destroying the lives of more innocents than he can count. This is what he tells himself when his plan starts to work and he is finally facing his fate at long last.

 

This is what he tells himself when has to turn those who care for each other against one another, tormenting them and backing them into corners with their only way out being through their opponent. Their companion. Their friend.

 

_Guilt is a weakness._

 

But suddenly, he is weak too, and he is defeated by one of his own. _Lars_. The man is angry, wounded by Jin’s disregard for life and love and justice, enraged by his callous abuse of power and trust. Jin wants to laugh at him. Not mockingly, of course, but with relief. The man is right.

 

He is right, but it doesn’t matter. Just because he has lost doesn’t mean that he is finished, and then he is dead.

 

* * *

 

He is dead, and then he is not, even though he wishes that he was.

 

He remembers being cruel, remembers being a monster, and he remembers hoping that this would be it. That after this, it would all be over. Instead, he awakens in yet another unfamiliar place, meeting a host of faces that he’d never thought he would see again. He never wanted to see them again, really, but at least now he gets to apologize.

 

His grandfather, at long last, is dead, but his father remains. They think he should fight. Jin agrees. Maybe he still has a chance to end this and pay for his injustices, after all.

 

Evidently, it’ll have to wait. His father isn’t ready to die just yet, and if they’re going to do this right, they’ll need to buy some time. Formulate a plan. Figure out a way to actually win this and still have a world left when it’s all over. Jin is familiar with this sort of thinking, even if he’d abandoned it long ago. Minimizing collateral damage had been his goal when he was younger and much more innocent.

 

Still, he distances himself from this process, at least for the moment. There is something else he needs to do first.

 

* * *

 

He is not special, but Jin finds him.

 

Technically, he draws him out, but it is worth mentioning that he had to ask that silver-haired man for a favor in getting Hwoarang’s contact information. He even goes through the trouble of disguising his identity for the moment, telling his old rival that he has information on Jin Kazama’s whereabouts, which works even better than he’d thought it might. This is the most effort that Jin has put into reaching out to someone in years. Maybe that means something.

 

It doesn’t seem to mean much (at first) to Hwoarang outside the usual, and he recovers from his complete shock at seeing Jin again (alive and whole and well) pretty quickly. However, he doesn’t respond quite so gracefully to Jin’s apparently newfound sanity, nor to the fact that Jin sought him out himself and on his own volition. Hwoarang doesn’t seem to know how to handle that, but by some miracle, he hears Jin’s pleas of talking it out.

 

Then they’re in his apartment and Jin tells him as much as he can manage; once it starts coming out, it doesn’t stop. He tells him about his mother, about Toshin, about what his grandfather did and the two years of running and hiding and unbecoming that followed. He tells him about his father at the fourth tournament and his great-grandfather at the fifth tournament. He tells him about Lars and Alisa, about Azazel, and about all the things that he thought he had to do. He tells him that he was wrong. He tells him that he’s sorry.

 

And Hwoarang listens. Lets him in. Swallows his pride and shuts up for ten minutes and just lets Jin _talk_. He’s angry at first, then intrigued, then concerned. He listens, he learns, and then, before Jin is ready for him to, he somehow understands. Hwoarang won’t pretend to forgive him for all of the wrong he’s done, but he lets him stay, and that’s enough.

 

In many ways, it’s more than enough.

 

Sure, he’s still angry, but it’s a different kind, a breed of fury tempered by compassion and empathy. He’s unbelievably frustrated and he frequently tells Jin off for being an idiot, but Jin can’t ask for anything more than that. Hwoarang is just like that, but he’s coming around, and it’s a miracle that Jin can’t fathom. He asks him why. Hwoarang doesn’t really answer with words, although he says plenty of them; no, he answers with the look in his eyes and the pointed way that he cuffs Jin on the back of the head.

 

_“Didn’t take you as the type to ask stupid questions, Kazama.”_

 

Having support is...strange. Unfamiliar. Different, but not unwelcome. It’s kind of like the group who rescued him, except Hwoarang lacks their duty-bound solemnity and logic. Hwoarang yells. A lot. He curses and shoves and doesn’t dance around anything except for feelings, and even then, it’s hardly a dance. He treats Jin like a punching bag, like something that can take a hit and still be there for you, and Jin realizes that it’s not so bad. That he doesn’t mind this. Suddenly, he’s not a monster, he just makes terrible decisions. He’s not the key to ending all of this, he’s just another kid. He’s not a bomb waiting to drop, he’s just Jin stick-up-his-ass Kazama.

 

_(“You’re not the enemy,” Hwoarang says, not looking at him. “Quit acting like you are.”)_

 

Jin doesn’t know how he can say that sort of thing with a straight face. Does he not remember? ( _“Of fucking course I do, are you an idiot, Kazama?”_ ) Or does it simply not matter anymore? ( _“You sure do ask a lot of questions for someone so stoic.”_ ) If that’s the case, then how can that be? ( _“For fuck’s sake, Kazama, could you put a cork in it and stop being so dramatic?”_ ) Jin doesn’t understand, but he stays anyway, comforted in the strangest of ways just like he was before, back when they were younger and meeting on the streets for the first time, back when they were reuniting at the third tournament and staring each other down from across the room. On one hand, it feels like that was a thousand years ago, but on the other hand, he’s not as exhausted as he used to be.

 

Hwoarang is there for him, in whatever way he can offer. They fight, they push, they spar – Hwoarang reaches out to him, defying all logic, and Jin reaches back for an equally unknown reason. When he awakens in the night, covered in sweat and just this shy of screaming, Hwoarang is there, giving what he can (water, stability, reassurance) without coming too close. There is an undeniable distance between them, but it’s more for propriety’s sake than anything else. More and more, he finds himself wanting to close it.

 

More and more, he finds himself thinking that maybe Hwoarang wants to close the distance, too.

 

* * *

 

He is not special, yet he remembers him. He remembers everything about him, the color of his hair and the way it feels between his fingers when he catches it by accident, how he sings quietly to himself when he’s working on something menial, the curve and shape of his most signature grin. Jin remembers the exact impact of his feet against his body when they spar, the way he ties his hair back before doing chores, the sound and tone of his voice when he addresses him by his given name for the first time.

 

(Jin finds himself thinking about that a lot, the way Hwoarang’s face had colored once he’d realized what he’d done, the way his expression had shifted from unsuspecting to surprised to embarrassed within the span of a few seconds.)

 

At some point, without them realizing, they become accustomed to each other.

 

Hwoarang laughs a lot, actually, loud and emphatically genuine and nowhere near as derisive as the taunting behaviors that Jin has put up with in the past. His actual smiles are nice, too, when Jin manages to catch sight of them. They soften his face just enough so that he doesn’t look quite so much like he’s fighting a constant battle, and Jin wishes he would do it more often. He’s much more close-kept than Jin had previously realized, leaving many things unsaid behind his aggression and boldness, and Jin begins to learn the nuances comprising that as well. He likes loud music, motorcycles, and will eat pretty much anything. He’s very meticulous about his hair, secretive about his past, and stubborn about his goals. He has a hard time sleeping at night. He likes being outdoors. He’s never said it outright, but Jin knows he loves his master.

 

Jin gets phone calls from Lars and Hwoarang listens in, leaning in the doorway and wrinkling his nose at the dour updates on Kazuya’s behavior in-between silently mocking Lars for his “gloom and doom” delivery. Jin mentions liking a certain kind of food, and the next he knows, they’re having that for dinner and it’s the best thing he’s tasted in a long time. He cleans the apartment while Hwoarang is out and he seems genuinely appreciative when he gets back, albeit somewhat embarrassed. They watch shitty TV dramas together and Hwoarang doesn’t say anything when Jin falls asleep against his shoulder. They train and make each other stronger. They find their common ground and cherish it. Nightmares come for both of them, as they often do, and the other is always there, getting closer every time.

 

Hwoarang asks him if he’s alright, leaning over him with a worried light in his eyes.

 

Closer.

 

Jin touches his shoulder, takes his hand, holds onto him tightly until Hwoarang’s choked sobs finally subside.

 

Closer.

 

Hwoarang calls his name softly, brushing dark bangs out of his eyes and hovering over him even as Jin catches his hand in his own and holds it to his face. He wants him to be closer.

 

“Hwoarang,” he whispers, the name comforting on his lips. “Hwoarang.”

 

“Jin,” Hwoarang answers, and kisses him.

 

* * *

 

Despite everything, it takes Jin a while to realize that Hwoarang is, in fact, special.

 

There is a brief time where they don’t really speak of what happened between them that night, but they both remember it. Jin knows Hwoarang’s tendencies by now, after all, and he knows what he wants. What they both want. He owes it to him, in a way, to take this next step, to show affirmative interest in a way that he hadn’t quite managed when they were rivals, so he does.

 

Jin lingers in the doorway and Hwoarang eyes him from his mattress, looking soft and warm and familiar in the T-shirt and sweatpants set that he usually sleeps in. Neither of them speak. It’s strange, in a way, how something that meant nothing could suddenly mean everything.

 

How someone who only meant something – because he was never nothing – could suddenly mean everything.

 

Jin moves, then, drawing towards the bed and only hesitating for a moment before taking his place there. His motions are slow, measured; he crawls across the mattress to where Hwoarang lies, still watching him, carefully expressionless. Jin is undeterred by this. He knows what that means, after all.

 

He’s above him now, hovering, hesitating for only a second once more before closing the distance between them one last time and kissing him.

 

He’s kissing him, Jin can’t breathe, and he loves it.

 

They’re so close and Hwoarang just holds him closer, fingers in his hair as he devours Jin’s mouth with his own, passionate and demanding. He kisses him like he’s wanted this for years, and it occurs to Jin that perhaps he has. All of that old persistence, misguided and aggressive as it was insistent and earnest; all of this new devotion, deceptively quiet and gentle and understanding, could it be? Could it mean something to Hwoarang that Jin had never thought of before this moment?

 

It would seem so, although he doesn’t have the semblance of thought to ponder it much further. Hwoarang’s hands are all over him and under his shirt and Jin’s follow suit, searching and tracing and touching in places that shouldn’t feel so good, but it does, it _does_. He’s never been held like this before. He’s never pulled anyone this close before, has never pressed his body up to someone else’s and stayed there, enjoying every moment and wanting more. Hwoarang clutches at his lower back, moaning softly into his mouth, hips nestled firmly against Jin’s own. In between shocks of pleasure and the rhythmic movements of their bodies, Jin marvels at the satin smoothness of Hwoarang’s skin, tracing his fingertips along his chest, his waist, his hips. His rival groans, and so does he – they want more than this. They need more.

 

Hwoarang rolls Jin onto his back, straddling him as he works at the remainder of their sleeping clothes, his hands sliding along Jin’s bared thighs and making him squirm. Fingers wrap around his cock and Jin cries out, hips jerking upwards almost involuntarily as the friction sends sparks running through his veins. Head thrown back, he gasps for air that feels like fire in his lungs, losing himself in the sensation of Hwoarang’s hand between his legs and his teeth against his throat.

 

Jin drowns in it, and all-too soon he’s hitting the point of no return, crying out mindlessly into the darkness of Hwoarang’s room. The other draws back a bit, watching him as he nears completion, seemingly taking it all in and to be looked at like that right now is just too much, it’s too much. Hwoarang hovers over his arching body, seeing worth in him that Jin has never known before, and calls his name with a soft smile on his face.

 

For a time, all he sees is white.

 

Hwoarang’s lips are gentle against his forehead when he regains his senses, and it’s only another moment or two before Jin surprises them both by flipping them over. Their bodies feel so good together, and he knows what to do now – Hwoarang gasps when he takes him in hand, parting his legs so Jin remains between them. He’s loud, crying out and moaning openly with every stroke, and Jin never wants him to stop.

 

A hand tangles in his hair and pulls him down for another kiss, which he responds to eagerly, claiming the other’s lips with his own. Hwoarang murmurs his name against his mouth and Jin feels himself hardening again, pushed along by his partner’s muffled moans and willing body. He tightens his grip, marveling at the reaction it causes, and kisses him harder. He’s never wanted anything so much in his life. Hwoarang gasps into his mouth, hips twitching in spasms, and his fingers grip at Jin’s shoulders so tightly that it’s almost painful.

 

When he comes, Jin watches him, drawing back to see Hwoarang arch beneath him with a breathless, hitching cry of his name. His chest heaves, the muscles in his stomach tensing with every leftover quiver of his body, his face softened by the pleasure Jin has given him. All the hard lines of worry and frustration and nightmares have been washed clean, if not just for the moment. He looks at peace here, in Jin’s arms, and he likes that.

 

Hwoarang gazes up at him, something gentle reflecting in his eyes, and he likes that, too.

 

* * *

 

He is not alone anymore.

 

They’re in Hwoarang’s bed again, no clothes to hinder them, touches lingering and exploratory as they tangle their legs together, sharing kisses like they share the space between them; frequently and with little prejudice. They do this often now, close as they can manage, taking strength from the other’s presence and the positive company that makes a difference in their lives, especially amongst everything else that they have to face. His father is still out there. Jin is still the key to this war. They are still fighting, sometimes against each other, sometimes against the world outside, sometimes even against themselves.

 

But really, all they are is this, these quiet moments together; this, and the knowledge that they are not alone in what they face.

 

Hwoarang leads him, shows him everything, soft-voiced and uncharacteristically gentle. He lies beneath him and doesn’t say a word about it, bright hair fanned out against the pillow and one hand reaching up to touch his face as he murmurs quiet instructions to him. Jin revels in the kindness, in the tenderness of it all, in the look on Hwoarang’s face and the reassurance in his words. He pushes slowly, in each way that he should, and the other responds with enough affirmation that it spurs him on even more. Jin absorbs it all, the distracting kisses, the soft gasps that are beginning to sound like moans, the tight heat surrounding him and the slow, sinuous arch of Hwoarang’s body underneath his own as he moves into an unknown experience. An unspeakable ache runs between them.

 

Jin never would’ve thought that anything could feel this good.

 

He is special, and he’ll always remember him. Fire and lightning entwining together, vibrant red burning warm against the softness of this room, of this safe place, of _new_ and _precious_ and _important_. Nothing has made sense since his mother’s death, even when it was supposed to: train, fight, run. Study. Train some more. Fight even harder than before. Get stronger, be colder, and _survive_. There is a legacy at stake here, after all, a burden that he never asked for and a family history that he needs to destroy on his own. He’d never known what to expect, and in the end, it had left him emptier than anything.

 

And now, he is alive once more.

 

There is a call, and there is an answer. It’s his first time doing something quite like this, and he’s never wanted anything more. Nothing holding him back, nothing to else to worry about, no world waiting for him to save it, just this familiar body against him and a voice calling his name and someone’s fingers laced between his own. It almost hurts, but it’s wonderful. It’s almost too much, but it’s hardly enough.

 

It’s a dance – it’s _their_ dance, and he wants _more_.

 

There is a call, and there is a second chance. He’d been afraid of being this close, but there’s nothing to be afraid of here. He feels like he could do this forever, the strain of his muscles nowhere near enough to distract him from the passion and proximity he’s experiencing now, but even the best of things must end (just not yet). There will be no draw, not this time. The conclusion – the continuation, truly, as this is not the end at all – will come as it must, but this will not be left unfinished as so many other things have been. He no longer has time to do these things halfway. It’s a little daunting to realize how important this is to him, and yet. And yet.

 

There is a call – a home and a room and a long time coming, searching, longing, yearning – and there is a man. He is warmer than anything he’s ever beheld, colorful and luminous, the pull between them like gravity. His intensity is unsurprising, his guidance a reassurance, his skin and lips and voice so undeniably, invitingly soft that Jin can’t even pull away to breathe for very long. They come together in a strange synchrony of passionate gentleness, each moving to meet the other, giving everything they have and receiving everything in return. The color is permanently a part of him now, red and orange and this smoldering, comforting shade of dark amber that looks right through him and still understands, still wants him, still cares for him.

 

There is a call, and there is Hwoarang. Jin will never let him go.

 

* * *

 

They go places together, seeking out those that Jin left behind in his ruminations and mending the rifts as they are. Some, like Xiaoyu, respond well, and it makes him hopeful. He cannot right all of his wrongs, but at he will at least do what he can.

 

They find allies and alliances, which are different things – allies will stick with you. Alliances are soulless things that may be broken. Jin knows this distinction and keeps it in mind. He knows who really matters.

 

Hwoarang sticks with him when the pressure picks up, analyzing Lars’ information and keeping tabs on Kazuya’s nonsense in the background. He seems to be looking for him. Hwoarang blows this off in a way that lets Jin know that he’s actually worried, but that’s okay. Jin isn’t. He’s gotten used to being chased everywhere he goes, and he isn’t scared of his father. He knows what he has to do.

 

That doesn’t make it any easier, of course.

 

* * *

 

All too soon, the time comes, and Jin is torn. This is why he pushed everyone away; so no one would have to lose him when he was finally gone.

 

(So he wouldn’t have to lose anyone.)

 

All too soon, his duty is calling, and he absolutely must answer it. No one else is capable of doing what needs to be done, and no one else will stand as much of a chance as he will in the end. The others can help, of course, but the final fight – and the final blow – will be his. It has to be. This must be laid to rest, no matter the cost.

 

Still, he hesitates. Hwoarang knows what his intentions are, and neither of them have any illusion about what the results might be, but they’ve both come to value whatever has grown between them too much to just let it go, even in the face of something like this. That would be too easy. Neither of them have ever been the kind to go down without a fight, and this is most definitely a fight.

 

So Hwoarang stands beside him, and he will not leave. ( _“I’ve never gone anywhere before, why the hell would I start now?”_ ) When Jin goes, Hwoarang comes with him, his closest companion in this seemingly endless hellscape. If the others are surprised by this, they don’t show it, and it’s business (daring, destruction, death) as usual regardless. The eleventh hour is rapidly approaching, and Jin has had his time to do what he’d needed to. Now, there is this, and there is not a choice.

 

He is Jin Kazama, and he will defeat his father. He will bring this to an end, and he will not falter in the face of the challenge before him. That much has not changed, but now, perhaps, there is a little more to this. Now, he is fighting for more than duty’s sake. They both are.

 

_“Jin, when this is over...”_

 

_“...yes?”_

 

_“You still owe me that rematch.”_

 

_“...I suppose I do, don’t I?”_

 

_“Sure do, so you’d better win this. I’m not letting you back out on your promise this time.”_

 

He remembers.

 

_“This time, I’ll keep it.”_

 

_“Good.”_

 

_“...Hwoarang?”_

 

_“Yeah?”_

 

_“Thank you.”_

 

He is not alone anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mood Playlist:   
> Closer-Jonathan Young (cover)  
> All Time Low-Sam Tsui and Casey Breves (cover)  
> Diamonds-Kim Viera (cover)


End file.
